Dead End Game
by almost-never
Summary: Part Two: You stare at his sleeping figure through the darkness and you can't make out his features. He looks so much less dangerous, more human when you can't see the blue glare of his eyes or the smirk embellished across his face like a watermark.
1. Toast

**Dead End Game**

**Disclaimer:** Being as broke as I am, I don't own.

**A/N:** This is my first two-part story set in the future; a Jay/Darcy fic, as unheard of as it is. It was inspired and loosely follows the storyline of a song by Melissa McClelland called Picture Postcard.

**Edited:** 08/16 for clarification.

**Part One - Toast**

The sun is piercing accusingly through the tinted car windows, blinding you and pissing you off to no end. The highway is uncharacteristically bare – no cars except your own, driving madly into nonexistence. It's a perpetually beautiful and cool day in July. The only thing wrong with this concrete picture paradise is that your hands are bloody and the metallic stink is making you gag.

She's still snuffing into a box of Kleenex in the backseat, discarding the used wads onto your clean car floor and trying to stifle her sobs so she could figure out what she wants to do with herself. She's curled up as though trying to appear small and unnoticeable and innocent, one pale hand quivering over her rounded, bulging stomach.

"How long – how much longer...? It's been hours."

Her voice cracks with every syllable, the pungent words slipping and sliding over each other, because she doesn't know exactly what she's trying to say. You don't answer, partly because you don't know yourself, and partly because it hurts to speak. And because your main priority is to get away before they find you. You have been silent for hours – doing what you did makes you quiet, because even your voice will give it away; that you're filth, you're a leper, you're...running.

- - - - - -

"_I don't know."_

_You raise your head slightly, blearily wiping the crust off the edges of your eyes. She's staring at the ridges on the ceiling, her hair mussed and framed around her face like a shroud of smooth brown._

_You lean over to press your lips against her face in a quick rustle of blankets. "What don't you know?"_

"_Sometimes, it just...I just want to tell her, you know? Tell her before she finds out on her own, when I start showing. She's going to ask questions. She's too curious for her own good."_

"_Why would you want to tell her, Darcy?"_

_She scrunches her eyes shut, her long fingers splayed over her face. "Stop teasing, Jay. I hate it when you do that. I'm trying to be serious," she says, her voice muffled and icily dignified. Then she deflates. "You're getting married in a few months. What happens after that? Everything – everything just disappears like it never existed? Like there was never an 'us?' Like I'm not pregnant?"_

_She sits up suddenly, clutching the covers over her chest and eyes slitted. "I hate her sometimes, you know? Why does she get to have you, when I love you better, I love you more – I'm the one with your baby, I'm...ugh. She can be such a bitch sometimes, you know? It's like she's constantly trying to dangle you in front of me, like she knows and she thinks it's heinously funny or something. She's never really been there for me, you know? Even when Manny – you know – it had to be all about her, like, at the funeral, 'I can't believe they're killing trees just so she could have something dead to be buried in' and crap like that – ex_cuse_ me, am I boring you?"_

_She stiffens and falls down next to you again, her expression sarcastic and sour as she prods you in the arm. It hurts, a little bit, though you don't say so in order to maintain your macho front. Your carefully dodge her question._

"_You wanna get rid of her?" You ask, almost disturbed by your own crazy thoughts._

"_Right now – yeah." She rolls her eyes all funny, as though she's all high-maintenance. Which she is, kind of._

_You roll your eyes, too, to mimic her, your lips twisted in your trademark smirk. "Like, really get rid of her. So we could be together without having to hide all the time. I mean, she did say once that she'd die for me. Let's see if she means it."_

_She turns to face you, forehead furrowed. "No way – you can't mean – what do you mean? What the hell?"_

_You sigh, exhaling deeply before you respond. "Nothing. Never mind."_

_There is a slight pause – a deafening silence that seems to stretch onward to forever, roaring in your ears and mixing in with the steady ticking of the clock on her dresser – steady ticking like a bomb waiting to explode._

_Her face is subdued and quiet when she finally speaks. "I would die for you, too."_

- - - - - -

The sky is darkening now and you contemplate – nothing better to do now, anyway, other than drive. You've stopped at a bank and a fast food joint hours before and cleansed yourself of the only visible reminder of what you did. Now you're practically out of the province – you've been driving west the entire day, into the sun and your eyes are driving you insane.

She's asleep in the backseat, her mouth sagging sadly as she lets out shuddering breaths. She swore she'd do anything for you, that she loved you so much that she'd die for you. But you know she'd be gone in a second if she ever had the chance to get away. Especially now that you're both on the run.

You wonder how you ended up in such a psychopathic state. You wonder why Alex, whom you thought was the love of your life again after she took you back, ran off with the curly-haired loony whose name you still can't quite remember. You wonder how you even ended up with your dead fiancée – Greenpeace, you called her – years after your little fling that ended you up with no sex and a fledging disease. You wonder how you got together with her substitute best friend, the one who replaced Manuela Santos – the fragile existence slumped over the backseat, traumatized and beautiful.

And you can't remember anything.

The streetlights are glowing now – the sky has been dipped into a shade of ugly blue, melancholy and wretched all at once – like you, only you're alive and the sky is just particles. She mumbles in her sleep behind you.

"Chocolates...black...stop it, I said _stop – _I_ – _no, this isn't what I – you can't...what are you..._stop_."

- - - - - -

"_What did you do! What did you – I can't believe it! Oh, my God. I – oh, fuck, what the hell did you do?"_

_She's hysterical, rocking back and forth, tears flooding her ruddy face and spit flying everywhere. You're eerily calm, despite what you just did. You've spent several weeks preparing yourself for this day, hardening yourself and becoming iron – untouchable; insanely emotionless to the ordeal that is thrashing itself around in your face._

_That's why you're slightly surprised to see your hand shaking as it clenches itself more tightly around a crimson stained knife, your knuckles bloody and white. Like your last Christmas._

"_Shut up and get in the car, Darcy," you tell her quietly._

"_No fucking way; I can't believe you just – God, why would you – oh, my God, Icantbelieveyoudidthis! IhateyourightnowIneverwantedhertodieand – _don't point that stupid thing at me!"

_A thing. Not a weapon, not a kitchen tool, not a killer connected to your crazy mind. You brandish it in her face and she flinches, cowering against the car, gulping and crying, holding a box of chocolates crumpled where her hand had crushed it._

"_You said you'd do anything for me. That you'd die for me. Does that change just because I did what I did? Because I got her out of the way? She's toast, alright? Get over it – this is what you wanted, admit it," You insert black syrup into your voice; the words ooze out of your mouth like slime._

_She whimpers. "I _never_ wanted it to – never wanted her to _you know_. Jay, I thought we were just going to tell her – you never said anything about – God, you're fucked. They're going to catch you, they're going to give you hell -"_

_You close your eyes tightly for a second, mentally counting from one to fucking ten;_ _put the knife down, you don't want her to die –_

_But frankly, you don't care if she does, anyway._

"_Let's get something straight here. First, I'm not getting caught; they're not giving me anything. Second, if you come with me, we'll escape, but if you don't, you get arrested. Oh, and see this knife here? See how it's covered in blood? You even think about leaving me, you even think about running off..."_

_She crumples against the car, sobbing over it and surrendering before throwing herself onto you, dampening your shirt as she chokes. You run a bloody hand into her soft hair, tangling your red fingers with her stained mane. "I did this for us. This is what you wanted deep down. Tell me you love me, because I know you do," you hiss into her ear and she shivers._

_A part of her seems to collapse. "I love you," she whispers, barely inaudible but still there as she tilts her face up for a kiss._

_Turning away, you let her go and throw open one of the backseat doors. She clutches her stomach, sobbing again. "So get in the car and shut up."_

- - - - - -

Stars are littering the black sky – it is completely dark, save for the streetlights illuminating the highway in spots. You're already somewhere in Manitoba – farmhouse after farmhouse rushes by you, or the other way around – you don't know, you're too tired and irritated to care.

She had woken up about half an hour ago, holding her pre-baby and crying again.

"Do you realize that I'm missing CSI right now? God – this is _fantastic_, really. First, you kill your fiancée and my best friend. Then, you blackmail me into coming with you – and now, we're in the middle of nowhere, trying not to get arrested – and, by the way, I didn't even do anything but I'll get arrested as your accomplice or accessory or -"

Your patience snaps suddenly, the car skidding to a stop at the edge of the road. "You've been complaining ever since you woke up – stop making it hard for the both of us," you want to say, but something tells you to keep quiet, let her vent herself thin.

She sulks, her bottom lip jutting out slightly and popping another chocolate into her mouth. "At least let us check into a cheap motel or something – I swear I won't complain if there are bedbugs – I just want a bed, I just want some water, and I just want this to be over for a few hours. Please." Her chocolate stained fingers reach out to touch your shoulder. You glance at it from the corner of your right eye.

You turn on the radio. The music is staticky and you can't even make out the tune at times.

"Ew, you know I hate, loathe, and despise rap. Did I mention that I hate, loathe, and despise rap? Uh, yeah. Anyway. I, for one, do not, like, want the baby to be exposed to that gangster stuff. Bad influences, you know? Come _on_ – change the fu – change the station. Just change it."

You roll your eyes and do so.

"...Toronto, a woman has been found stabbed in her apartment near...police have not...Nelson, who lived alone...is between ages 25 and...suspects include her fiancé, who seems to be...family -"

Cutting the report off midsentence with the push of a button, you glance at her. She looks terrified but blinks as she tries to hide it, her eyes wide and darting as she pops the last chocolate into her mouth and rolls down the window. "God, this car reeks. Burgers, you know?"

She tosses the chocolate box out the window and sticks her head out into the cool Manitoban air, chestnut hair flying everywhere. And for the first time in weeks – ever since your plan began spawning in your distorted mind, you love her again, because she – complete with her windswept hair and closed eyes and freckled face – reminds you of the way things used to be when you were normal and she was your secret.

And then, the window seals shut and she's leaning against the plush of the backseat again, holding her stomach and tears in her eyes. And the images are ripped away from you – you are, again, metal and unfeeling and she's only with you, because, despite your careful detachment from her, you're too fucking scared of going down alone.

And there she is, crying again, swiping the hem of her shirt across her eyes because there are no more tissues.

"When I was – when I – when that window was open, and I was leaning out of it – you probably wouldn't understand – I just felt alive, you know? I felt like none of this – none of this had ever happened and everything was still okay and she was still – you know – and we were still secret and I wasn't just a pawn in this sick runaway game you're losing...then, I closed the window and I realized that this is completely bullshit – this is completely..." She takes a deep, shuddering breath and chokes on her words, her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach again. "We're speeding towards a dead end and we can't stop – when do you plan on stopping? Are we going to run forever? What happens when we hit the Pacific? What then? How can we...we're not – we're just not going anywhere. Can't you see that?"

Her body heaves with tears and you stop the car again. You don't know what to say. You don't know yourself – you never really thought that far ahead. There's a chilling silence in the air, punctuated by the rare car passing and her wracking sobs. You realize you're squeezing the steering wheel much too tight; your hands are laced with white.

She takes your lack of response in. "Oh, my God. I knew it. You – we're just going to drive around until they forget about us – it's karma. I can feel it – you killed her and we're both paying for this. Our lives are completely toast – completely wasted."

Another one-sided silence. Then, "Say something. Please."

The last word is weighted down by layers of desperado black, spidery anguish, and a gut-wrenchingly roaring sense of jadedness – so much that you have to say something; you have to speak up for the first time in hours.

"Look," you start, your voice scratchy and hoarse. "There's a town up ahead. We'll find someplace to sleep first, okay? We'll figure everything out - it'll be okay. I promise. I have never lied to you. It will be okay."

She falls back, her head lolling slightly. "Famous last words." Then - asleep.


	2. Blinding

**Disclaimer:** Ownage - no. Affiliation – I wish.

**A/N:** Thank you so much for the reviews! I am sorry beyond belief this took so long! This part, again, features Darcy/Jay but the events occurring are from Darcy's point of view this time. Crazies, penknives, and flashbacks all make an appearance.

**Part Two – Blindly**

_"Jay!" She opens the door, blonde hair swaying and grin wide, holding a stack of environmental pamphlets. He hugs her as though nothing is wrong as you stand behind him, your stomach swirling madly and hands shaking from jealousy. _

_One hour – that's all it takes for you to be completely his. One hour before you break your best friend's heart, but it'll be worth it and everything._

_Everything will be alright. _

_Those were the three sentences that have been plaguing your mind for a week. You've been a nervous wreck, hovering somewhere between fantasies of you and him with a family and quaking images of her – sobbing. Or even worse, him scooping her into his arms, blatantly sending you into a vortex of black. _

_"Darcy! How have you been? I haven't seen you in forever. Wow – what a surprise! Did you come here with Jay?"_

_"No – no, I, uh, no. I was just visiting - I bumped into him along the way, you know? What a – a coincidence, huh?" You smile weakly; sure that the wavering curve of your lips is betraying you. _

_But she doesn't notice a thing. She clasps her skinny fingers onto his arm, beaming. "Guys – come in! And, oh, my God – chocolates! And they're...natural? Wow. I had absolutely no idea they even existed. That is completely cool. You are so thoughtful, Jay!" Her hand roves over his face, stopping at his cheek._

_"I love you so much." And you don't know with whose voice the words are coated – hers, his, or yours._

_- - - - - -_

You're lying, awake, trying to ignore the insufferable chirping of the crickets outside and the dank, moldy smell of the motel room you're currently occupying. One cramped sink. One dirty bathtub. Walls through which roaches dart, terrorizing you to pieces. Two chairs with the stuffing bubbling over like scar tissue. One set of drawers next the bed, on which a busted radio sits. One cramped bed that creaks whenever he rolls over.

You stare at his sleeping figure through the darkness and you can't make out his features. He looks so much less dangerous –more alive, morehuman– when he's asleep; when you can't see the blue glare of his eyes or the smirk embellished across his face like a watermark.

He's breathing gently, the sounds emitting like soft clouds and you wonder why he's only like this when he's unaware – unconscious. Or why he isn't this way anymore.

Killing does that to people, you suppose.

Shadows flit across the cracked ceiling like ghosts and, suddenly, you're a basket case again. Everything closes around you, and you're trapped in black doom, ghastly voices squeezing you out and hanging you to dry. Your throat tightens madly and a loud sob materializes over the hurt, cracking the silence like a gunshot.

That's all it takes. His eyes are open, the piercing lightness dramatized by the silver moonlight. And he's crazy Jay, again.

"What now? God, I was sleeping."

You sit up, body shaking. Out of habit, your freckled hand roves over your stomach – your womb; the only thing you have left of him.

"I...I don't know. Sorry. I just – I just wanted – I don't know. Go back to sleep." You slump down next to him, defeated and clueless.

He rolls his eyes, giving you the finger. "I can't." He sits up, now, looking pissed off beyond belief. Under the covers, your hand finds the penknife stashed at the inside of your bra.

You take a deep breath as the look slides off his face and he's normal again, kind of. He glances at the watch looped loosely on your wrist. "2:34," he says flippantly.

You can hear muffled sounds coming from the room above.

"Get a fucking room," he mutters, slinking down onto the beds, his hands over his face.

"They did," you say, and you realize you just said something witty. A guffaw erupts, bursting out of your mouth. Another. And then, you're hysterical, the shrill sound of your laughter weaving in and out with the panting above you, swelling and making your shoulders shake and eyes squint shut and legs kick under the covers. You feel your hand leave from the hem of your bra and you're suddenly giddy for the first time in awhile, fireworks under your eyelids just like the first time he kissed you.

And then it breaks sharply when you realize you're the only one laughing. It just dies off your throat, crippling you into the point of heartache, because you realize that you'll always be the only one laughing; the only one speaking – that everything with him will always be one-sided. A little part of you dies, right there, on the stink of the bed.

"I have to..." You clench your eyes shut for a moment, steeling yourself. "I have – uh, yeah. Nature calls, you know?"

- - - - - -

_She's grinning, the sparkle in her eyes prominent and lighting her whole face up._

_"That's just how it is; it's the way of life," he says, a smile stretching across his lips but evaporating somewhere before it reaches his eyes._

_"Right, because that makes so much sense, right?" You try to play along as you clutch your stomach, wondering how he could appear so composed – so poised._

_"You realize that you just said 'right' twice, right?" His mouth widens into a bigger smile as he mocks you and that's all she sees; the smile – not the warnings layered beneath the amiable façade._

_You both know you're slipping – that you're so close to snapping._

_She throws back her head as she laughs, her thatched hair swimming down her spine._

_"You guys are so amusing. Crackers, anyone?" She stands, holding a plate of cracked wheat cookies or whatever they're called – you don't know._

_He takes one, still smiling at her complacently. She smiles back as he takes her hand and rubs his thumb across hers._

_And you can't stand it._

_You rise out of your chair, insides on fire and you want to die – no, you want to hurt her, to make her feel second-best for once, for her to wake up and start realizing that not everything is about the recycling centre._

_"Things have changed." Your voice breaks and the sky begins to fall._

_- - - - - -_

The penknife is clutched in your shaking hand. You look in the lipstick-smeared mirror and there you are, in your underwear, with a bulge in your stomach and bags under your eyes. Your stringy hair is falling in your eyes, coating them from yourself so you can only see glimpses. You brush them away hastily and stretch out your arm. You want to see yourself do this.

The knife is poised above your wrist, quivering, waiting, and hungry. You can hear him muttering to himself in the other room. You quickly flush the toilet with your foot to drown out a wail.

You can't do it. You just can't. You want to die but you're afraid to, because – because something good may happen at any moment and you'll miss it.

You're crumbling as the door bangs open. There he is, hair mussed and eyes flying.

"What are you –no – what the fuck." And it's oddly satisfying for you, because finally he's the one who's fumbling for words.

"This is so surreal, you know?" You say to no one.

And no one responds. "What the fuck are you doing, Darcy? Put it down!"

You're crying, the bile rising up your esophagus like slime, like a butchered fish making its way up your throat. "Why? Afraid – afraid of knives now, Jay? But it doesn't matter. Because I can't do it, you know? I can't put that thing into my arm. I'm spineless, you know? I'm just...I went along with your stupid runaway game, I stayed with you, we...it doesn't matter anymore. It just doesn't."

He's staring at you and you're burning a hole in the floor. And it's a bizarre situation; you spilling everything with the penknife still hovering above your skin and him, finally stumped, finally human and confused.

And finally, you don't care anymore. Not for him, not for yourself, not for the mound on your belly keeping you together. So you do it. Both arms. You're blinded by the pain shooting all over you, stinging and smarting. But for whatever reason unknown to the both of you, you can't stop talking – your voice cracking and static like radio buzz and bullets.

"It is what it is, you know? I'm just – I'm so tired – you can't even imagine how tired. I think you're dying more than I am, although I'm the one with the blood dripping off my arms. Weird, huh? I sound completely crazy. Here I am, with my wrists slit and all bloody and shit and I'm still rambling on the way I always do. Only I guess I really know, you know?"

His eyes glint. "What do you know?" His voice comes out in a whisper.

"That I'm nothing. That you're nothing – to me, anyway, you know? That there's nothing for me to even look forward to. So why not end it, Jay? Why not?"

He smirks, the shine in his eyes brighter as he takes a step closer. "Because I'm not going down alone."

- - - - - -

_It's late out – the snow on the ground is yellow-stained and dirty. The neon lights of the stores you walk by glow. You look at him – there he is, shuffling along beside you looking as deep in thought and mysterious as ever._

_You can't help it – you've tried to squash it down for so long, but you just want to kiss him, opening up your souls and merging. You can't –_

_"You're shaking._ _What is it?"_

_You're startled out of your fantasy._

_"It's nothing. I, uh, I don't know – I just– yeah, I know, I'm a complete dork."_

_He rolls his eyes. "No kidding. Spirit Squad, yearbook committee, graduating with a Maths honour – then, Ryerson University and a job on the Danforth selling books."_

_Your heartbeat quickens; your stomach stirs. "You seem to know my life story."_

_His mouth widens, turning into that trademark smirk that you've always loved; even from afar at high school. He stops suddenly as a flurry of snow swirls around you. You've always loved the winter. _

_He kisses you in front of Mel's Beauty Shoppe, hands circling your back as your ears numb from the cold._

_You explode, the lights blinding and jolting. And you're so complete._

_- - - - - -_

You ran. You had kneed him in the crotch, grabbed the clothes you were wearing the day before and his car keys and bolted without signing out.

So here you are, now, sitting on bloodstained grass, still on motel property but hidden nicely.

You don't see the point driving off – no point, if the police are searching for his car. You don't know how long you've been here, either. Apparently, you hadn't cut yourself all that deeply, because now you're just left with crimson arms like spider webs and two crusty lines of darkness.

You can suddenly see blue and red flashes of light. Your designer watch is lying beside you, dirty, but if you can clean it up, you can probably sell it somewhere. If you ever get out of this, that is.

You slowly get up, snatching up the watch. There's a commotion up at the front. The manager, a dumpy, middle-aged woman, cries hysterically, disturbed that she let a killer sleep in her motel. "I neverwould have guessed– such a nice young – what happened to the woman? Did he – did he kill...oh, no, no, no. Such a nice..."

He had given up. He's there, standing stiffly with his hands on the police cruiser as various uniformed people mill around. He turns behind him and sees you, completely visible if anyone other than him were to look your way. Your heart begins pummeling in your chest as your hand begins to bleed from clutching the watch too tightly.

His eyes are red, then blue, then red – one of the cruisers' lights are still going off. They still glint maniacally but he merely nods imperceptibly with an air of the utmost resignation and turns back to staring at the shiny exterior of the police car.

You head towards the back of the motel towards the parking lot, briskly walking towards his beloved red – his car.

The wheel is still caked with brown from the day before but you don't mind. Driving hurts your wrists a bit but you just need to go. You don't know where. You don't know how long before you run out of gas – out of money. And you don't know what you're going to do, then, because you have nothing to do at all.

You stop suddenly – you hadn't gone far. The motel is close behind you, rundown and decrepit. He was once the love of your life. Now he's gone. And now you're free – but freedom has nothing in store for you. The car rumbles quietly. And you decide.

- - - - - -

_She's sobbing, hands over her face and the tear drops leaking through the slits between her fingers. You feel disgusting – the insides of your stomach are bunching up again and lurching fiercely. You idly wonder if your inner turmoil will affect the baby in any way and a laugh escapes your lips._

_"Why the hell would you even laugh, Darcy? I can't even look at you – both of you. I'm just...I can't even – I don't get it. What did I do wrong here, Jay? Darcy? Why did – why would you go and – you know how I think about wedlock and - is this some sort of sick plot against me? Is this a joke? I can't believe this is happening to me."_

_The words are rumbling catalysts – a shift between before and after._

_"You're making everything about you, again. Do you not realize how self-obsessed you are? There's the environment. There's health-food and exercise. There's Emma Nelson, wrapped up within her own life, you know? Why -"_

_She cuts you off with a muffled whimper, her hands now stretched in front of her with her palms out and tears still flooding her ruddy face. "What are you doing, Jay? What – what are you – what are you going to do? Oh, my God."_

_You spin around, slightly confused and your heart jumps into your throat, choking and gagging you._

_"Oh, my God – what is that? Jay – we told her already! Let's just go – don't – this wasn't supposed to – what -" You put your hands on his face and stare at him imploringly, fooling yourself and telling yourself that he would actually listen._

_He shoves you aside. She screams. You wail, clutching your stomach and throwing up onto the floor._

_The room smells like acid and your breakfast is sitting there, splattered and oddly forlorn. He's still clutching the knife as he opens the door, shouting cheerfully, "Come on, we're going to be late for the movie!"_

_You stare at the figure slumped on the floor although you're in so much distress that you can't even see straight. The room is spinning and you catch a glimpse of white lying on her now abandoned chair. You grab the chocolates and go._

_- - - - - -_

You've been driving for a few hours before you feel like you're going to fall asleep from fatigue. You're jaded beyond belief – it's hard to believe that you were worrying over tell your best friend about your love affair with her fiancé merely a day ago.

And now – they're probably searching for your body. He won't say anything – you know it. He probably already erased you from his memory; his mind.

You're not quite sure why he decided to let you go the way he did. And you're not quite sure if you even want him to go down alone or if you want to with him.

So you decide. Again.

The car skids to a stop at the side of the highway and you get out, the penknife discarded on the ground and the bloody watch in your hand again, crazy and dead save for the walking, breathing soul stumbling blindly along the side of the empty road.

You drift for a few minutes, collecting yourself for your lonely walk with no one; for no one. Your hand hovers over the bulge at your front, patting your belly emptily.

You're done collecting. Now, there's just a stretch of empty road ahead of you and the chill of Manitoban mornings to carry you on before you surrender completely, the way he had done when he called the police on himself. Only a matter of time now.

**The End**


End file.
